


like you mean it

by glitteratiglue



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Drinking, Exes, F/M, I'm Going to Hell, Jealousy, Out of Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Season/Series 01, if two people could work out their heartbreak by fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22734082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: Somewhere beyond the third drink Deanna had started to needle Will, and he’d risen to every bait like she'd struck him with her words.
Relationships: William Riker/Deanna Troi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	like you mean it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viktoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktoire/gifts), [convenientmisfires](https://archiveofourown.org/users/convenientmisfires/gifts).



> So, you know there was this hot minute in S1 where Will and Deanna were not dealing with their feelings for each other particularly well?

After the first senior staff poker game in Will Riker's quarters, Deanna is halfway out the door when:

“If you have a second, I could use a little help cleaning up here,” Will says.

It’s a transparent attempt to get her to stay — she can sense Will’s nerves and hesitation, mixed with the utter thrill at being alone with her for the first time since he boarded this ship — and she goes along with it anyway.

“Sure,” Deanna tells him.

So they pack up poker chips and playing cards and his folding table and stow them away, then Will says:

“Want a drink? I was thinking of having one.”

“Will,” Deanna says, warningly. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

It’s only been a week since the polywater led her to him in a haze, down to Engineering where she’d offered herself to him shamelessly. Will knew she wasn’t herself and she can’t begrudge him for taking her to sickbay instead, but the residual tension between them still lingers. His eyes have tracked her at every turn, his gaze heavy with attraction and sometimes with regret. She isn’t sure which is worse.

“It’s been two years, Deanna,” Will says. “I think we can both handle a friendly drink, surely.” He smiles easily, his emotions placid when she picks up on them. Then she remembers he probably still knows how to shield — the way she taught him — and she catches a hint of desperation beneath the surface that makes her waver. He wants her to say _yes_ , so badly. The memory of him rejecting her before they explored the tunnels under Farpoint is still fresh, a contusion that throbs painfully if she thinks about it too much.

“Think you can manage being alone with me?” The words come out sharper than she intends and Will just stares at her, a flash of hurt in his eyes before he quickly buries it.

“Deanna,” he says quietly. “Come on. It’s me.”

She breathes out slowly. “Okay.”

Somewhere beyond the third drink Deanna had started to needle Will, and he’d risen to every bait like she'd struck him with her words.

“You don’t want me here,” she tells him, enjoying the way his eyes widen in shock.

“That isn’t true,” he insists, waving the hand holding his drink so that some of the synthehol sloshes onto the carpet.

“Isn’t it?” Deanna says sharply, knocking back her shot and fighting back the grimace even as her eyes water. “Don’t forget I’m an empath, Will. It’s not like you can hide it.”

The conversation had started off well enough. They’d stuck to safe subjects: mutual friends, academy stories, career anecdotes. Then Will had made the mistake of trying to explain himself — for not meeting her on Risa, for everything — and Deanna simply couldn’t hear it, not like this, layered in platitudes and so much guilt it might as well be pouring off him in waves.

She's tired. Tired of being demure and professional and looking up at Will as if the sight of his stupid, dimpled face doesn’t make her want to kick something.

“Is that supposed to mean something, Deanna?” Will says, putting down the drink. He rises to his feet and steps into her space so he's standing right over her: all tall, imposing physicality and quietly furious eyes.

“It means,” she says deliberately, trying to ignore the sudden heat flaring beneath her skin from the way he’s looking at her, “that you don't want me here. That it was easier for you to hold me up as your romantic ideal, some kind of pleasant, distant memory you’ll forget eventually. Me being here, in your world? You don’t want it.”

Deanna watches as the words cut him, each one its own kind of glancing blow. The sense of shame she picks up on tells her that some part of what she just said is the truth. She pushes away her glass and gets up to look him square in the eye.

She's Will’s equal, now, in Starfleet if not in rank, and something inside him doesn't like that — the part of him that wanted her to be nothing more than the beautiful girl he left on an exotic planet who would never be the same without him. Suddenly, Deanna is thinking about all six-foot three of him hot and naked and wrapped around her — whether it's the synthehol or the fact that right now, she _hates_ him — and he's sucking in a furious breath to answer her and she knows she could have him, right now.

“That’s what you think?” bursts from him. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. You avoid me every chance you get.” She stares up at him, unblinking.

“Not like you don’t do the same.” He pauses, a sudden grin forming on his face. “Although — what about last week? You were practically tearing my clothes off in Engineering. I know you weren’t yourself, but you came to _me_ , Deanna.” Triumph glints in his eyes.

“That isn’t fair, Will,” Deanna says, a crawling sensation of embarrassment in the pit of her stomach. “I was infected; lots of people were overwhelmed.”

“But you still came to me, of all people,” Will says. He leans in close, too close, enough that she can feel his breath on her skin, hot and sweet and sharp with the brandy he just drank. “I could have you, Deanna, if I wanted." It's a whisper, barely breathed in her ear; it almost makes her tremble before she catches herself. "I thought about it, what you said to me. Once they distributed the cure, I thought about coming to your quarters, spreading you out on your bed and taking you, the way you asked me to. You in my mind, driving me fucking crazy.” His next words come out with the candour of too much synthehol. “I got so hard thinking about it I couldn’t breathe.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t have shut the door in your face?”

“No, I don’t think so.” There’s an unpleasant edge to his words. He reaches for her wrist, stroking his thumb over the ridge of bone. “I could have had you _begging_ for me.”

She resists the impulse to answer him instantly; her self-control's always been much better than his. She can hate him from the high ground, an altogether easier place to be. A memory flares, of the Academy and taunts from cruel boys about the supposed warmth and sensuality of her people, so why was she so fucking lofty that she wouldn't give them the time of day?

“How dare you,” she says with all her Fifth-House venom, incensed at the idea that she might be an easy challenge for him. “How dare you speak to me like that." She glares at him. “I would have locked my door.”

Will flinches; he’s staring at her mouth. The next part is hazy, when she remembers, but he’s walking her backwards, taking her shoulders and kissing her with anger and that single-minded flair that has always completely consumed her. She's kissing him back; his mouth is hot and she's moaning already, and she would hate herself right now but for the way she's squirming and wet between her thighs, desperate for release already.

Will is pulling his uniform shirt over his head and there’s a flicker of hesitation in his thoughts that fades when she stretches up to meet his mouth, running her hands through the soft hair on his chest. He gets rid of the rest of his clothes and she's stepping out of her jumpsuit, unfastening her hair from its bun and suspending all thought that this is a terrible idea. His hands — _God,_ those callused yet tender hands; she’s missed them — lift her carefully onto the nearest table.

Deanna has no intention of being careful with Will. She curls a hand around his cock and tugs at it, squeezing enough to hurt just a shade, and both feels and hears the surprised sound he makes against her collarbone.

He lifts his head and his palm glides up her thigh, to where her traitorous body is already slick and ready to take him in.

“Ready for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs as two of his fingers drag through damp curls, spread her open roughly, and she lets out a soft _“Oh,”_ at feeling Will touch her like this, after all the time she’s spent pretending not to want this.

"Will, please," Deanna says, her breaths coming quick and fast against his mouth, hair falling into her eyes. He pulls his hand from her and she reaches back, finding the rounded edges of the glass table, cool against her fingertips. “Do it, come on.”

Will’s fingers are splayed out at the base of her spine, wet from her. He’s sliding his cock against her entrance as his hand steadies it, and with one swift stroke he’s full inside her, groaning as he feels her open for him.

“Oh,” she gasps, reaching up a hand to grasp his upper arm, needing something to keep her grounded.

For half a moment, they’re caught up in the sheer relief of it and just stare at each other, before they remember exactly what led them into this.

She watches Will’s eyes glint, something calculating behind them.

“How long's it been since someone fucked you?” he asks, in that same barbed tone with a slight edge of nastiness. Her _“Mm,”_ is probably answer enough, because he sinks in suddenly deeper, grabbing at her ass with uncalculated, clumsy movements that show her how much his controlled, Starfleet mask has really slipped.

“Last week,” Deanna says around his mouth, the hint of a laugh in her tone, and it's no lie. Will doesn’t answer, but his breath hitches; he pulls back before he drags her in and kisses her fiercely. “And it was _good_ ,” she continues, “the way he touched me, and he was —” her words are punctuated by a moan, as his cock slips against her entrance and she's seeing stars — “gentle.” It feels good to hurt him with her words — to leave the same puncture-marks on his ego that he left on her heart — almost as good as the way he's opening her with every thrust, the hand behind her keeping her pressed close to the heat of his body.

“And you,” Deanna says, because Will has always considered turnabout fair play and she’s not letting him off this easy. “I saw you with that ensign at the captain’s reception the other day. Did you fuck her?”

“Yeah,” Will says, leaning down to scrape teeth along her neck, his mouth leaving a wet trail. She drags her nails through his hair, digs them into his scalp hard enough to make his breath catch, make him push into her so deep it aches in her belly. A full-body shiver goes through her when two deft fingers pinch at her nipple.

“Did she taste sweet? As sweet as me?” Deanna says on a sigh, as Will’s hand slips between them, fingers pressing to the skin at the side of her clit. He still knows how to touch her; he hasn’t forgotten. His eyes flare and she knows she’s gotten under his skin the way she meant to. “How many times did she come?”

He grins, broad and arrogant and says against her lips: “Three. Once on my tongue, twice when I fucked her.”

“Lucky girl,” Deanna says, arch, aware she’s taunting him but unable to stop herself. He rotates his hand, pressing his knuckles to her clit so she can rock against them while he fucks into her, get the friction she needs. She’s moaning with every movement and can’t bring herself to care, it feels so good — the kind of good she hasn’t allowed herself to think about for the past couple of years.

“Mm.” Will snaps his hips forward, breathing hard against her mouth, and she gasps. “She was noisy, too.”

“I know how you like that.” Deanna smiles, her hand caressing his neck until he winces and she sees the crescent-shaped bruise beneath her fingers.

“That her?”

“Guess so.”

Deanna claws her nails down his back, making him hiss, throwing off the rhythm of his hips for a moment. She stretches up to bite that small mark and sucks a bruise into his neck, right over it, leaving her own impression there.

“And with your guy, did you scream?” Will’s hand slides down to squeeze at her hip, digging into the flesh and it's an ache so delicious she doesn't care what messed-up place it comes from and how angry she's making him. “Like you always did for me.”

Deanna rolls her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She wraps a hand round his neck, yanking him close enough to whisper in his ear: “Louder. And I came _so_ hard.” Her moan against his mouth is languorous, perhaps a little exaggerated as her nails shift upwards to rake his skull, the nails of her other hand still carving red lines into his back.

“Yeah?” It's a savage grunt against her skin, and he shrugs out of her grasp to lay a bite just above her breast. Nobody since him has bitten that hard, has thought that she might want to have teeth-marks on her skin, but he knows, and it's maddening in a way that makes her twine her fingers in his hair and pull. With a soft laugh, Will just thrusts faster, follows it up with another, harder bite that’ll mark her for more than a week. She's keening, writhing against him because he isn't playing fair and he knows it, if he does that again she might just —

He pulls his fingers from her, and the hand pressed against her hip is suddenly iron, pinning her to the table so she can't move against him.

“Will, don’t stop,” Deanna pants. “What are you doing?”

“No,” Will says, and a smile grows on his face, mocking. "You can’t come yet, Deanna. Not until you tell me that you still need this. You still need me.”

Surprised, she nearly spits at him, but holds it back at the last second, clenching her teeth. He knows, though; he’s laughing as he grabs her hair and yanks hard, enough to tip her head back, make her eyes water. It exposes her throat and he licks at the skin there, follows it up with a nip of teeth.

“You're going to tell me you need me, and then,” he softens his voice, “you're going to come so hard you scream.”

“Will, I, —” Deanna is gasping, frustrated, full with him but with no way to move. “ _Please._ ”

“Mm, not what I asked,” he murmurs into her neck. Will's fingers are tight in her hair, his words dripping with command and power.

She hasn’t used her empathic advantage thus far — not since she sent her words into his mind on that first day and felt nothing but emptiness — but now she reaches for his thoughts, pulls him in and feels him let go of her hair in shock.

“Imzadi,” he blurts out, eyes widening as he feels the onslaught of her presence — all around him, inside him — and she can tell he hadn’t meant to say it.

His mind, even now, is achingly familiar to her.

It’s the work of seconds to follow the threads of his arousal to the place where they’re tangled tight and push at them, and Will gasps and can’t stop himself — he slams forward, his fingers loosening their grip on her thigh. With one more thrust, he pulses inside her and comes with a soft groan of _“Deanna,”_ into her hair, clutching at her arms hard enough to bruise as he fills her up with his release.

Feeling his orgasm is every bit as incredible as it used to be — it makes warmth flare between her thighs and she’s not far from following him right over — and in spite of herself, she strokes her hands down his back, trying to bring him down where he’s still breathing heavily and shaking in her arms.

Slowly, she draws back from his mind and his face twists, betraying how much he misses her presence in his thoughts. Deanna wishes she didn’t know.

“I guess I deserved that,” Will says, voice wrecked, and he’s laughing. He looks at her, intent forming in his eyes, and in an instant he’s pulling out of her, kneeling at her feet.

Deanna smiles beatifically, rests a hand on his shoulder. “I always liked you on your knees for me.”

“I know.” His tongue darts out to trace the crease where thigh meets hip, and she sighs. “Bet he did this, too, didn’t he? But I know he didn’t make you scream like I will,” he adds, like it’s a challenge.

Deanna is rapidly losing control, already shivering in anticipation because Will Riker has never backed down from a challenge in his life.

He gets right to it, shouldering her thighs apart. She doesn’t have a moment before he’s right _there_ ; he thumbs her open and then his mouth surrounds her clit, licking at her hard.

 _“Will.”_ She almost bucks right off the table, and a laugh vibrates against her as he reaches back to wrap a hand around her ass, keeping her still for him.

The heat of his mouth leaves her clit briefly and she whimpers, but then there’s the startling intimacy of his tongue dipping into her entrance where she’s slick with him. He licks himself out of her, just a little. Deanna gasps and reaches down, sliding fingers into his hair for something to hold onto.

Will looks up at her, his gaze heated and just like that, stops dead.

She can’t stop herself huffing out a sigh, and the smile he gives her in return is infuriatingly smug.

“Didn’t forget what I promised, did you,” he says, low, his breath hot against her, a sweet torture when he’s denying her the friction she craves. “You don’t get to come, Deanna, until you tell me you still need this from me. Until you admit it.”

Fury flares inside her; she could push him away, get dressed and leave right this second. But she’s flushed and has never needed to come so badly in her life — and the worst part is Will knows it, still knows her better than anyone else can.

“I —” Deanna tries, and falls silent.

Will kisses her inner thigh, just inches from where she wants him, and she shakes against him. “Sorry, didn’t hear you. What was that?”

“Will, I need you,” Deanna says, the words falling out of her mouth unbidden even as she tries not to say them. “I still need this. I need to come, _please._ ”

At least he doesn’t wait. Before she finishes exhaling in relief, he’s back there, his mouth all over her as she pushes against his tongue, grinding on his face, moaning, “ _Will,_ oh, God, yeah, like that, I —"

She twists her fingers in his hair, making him groan against her, and when he moves to sucks her clit into his mouth, she breaks, gasping out, _“Oh, God,_ Will, yes, don’t stop, don’t —” as the relief of her climax floods through her. As she comes down, it’s too sensitive right now and he knows it, but he keeps up the barest pressure with his tongue and brings up two fingers, sliding them in and out where she’s slick and open. It isn’t long before she comes again, even more intensely this time, clamping her thighs around his face, her moan fading into a scream when he just keeps right on going, prolonging it until she has to say, “Stop, Will. Stop,” and he lets her push his head away.

“As sweet as you remember?” Deanna teases while she tries and fails to catch her breath.

He straightens up and leans in to kiss her, wet and sloppy so she can taste every bit of herself. “Sweeter,” he says, biting down on her lip.

“Will,” she chides, wiping at her now-sticky mouth with the back of her hand while he does the same.

“Do you really hate me?” he asks, a smile quirking his lips. “I feel like I heard it somewhere in your mind.”

“No.” She pushes her sweaty hair back with a hand and she's smiling, infuriated and elated at the same time.

“I think maybe I’d deserve it.” He kisses her one more time, very softly and Deanna allows herself to melt into it, aware they’re both sober now and the moment is fading swiftly.

A laugh escapes her, and she can tell it unnerves him because he pulls away, reaching for the pieces of his uniform while she's still perched on the edge of the table.

“You’re okay, right, Deanna?” Will asks, his voice businesslike but with a hint of something tender beneath the words.

“I’m fine,” Deanna says, climbing down off the table and turning away. She tugs on her jumpsuit with fingers that are still trembling, smooths her hair as best she can.

He’s waiting there, just feet away; her mind tells her that much.

“Goodnight, Will,” she says. She looks at him briefly; he’s wearing his uniform pants, barefoot, his hair a mess over his forehead.

On her way out, she hears a soft, plaintive _“Deanna,”_ just before the doors close behind her.

Will's profuse apologies the next day are to be expected. His eyes turn in her direction for most of the morning in between his bridge duties, his mind so restless and agitated it’s hard for her to get a read on any of the other lifeforms around her.

He finally corners her in the turbolift after alpha shift ends.

“Computer, halt.”

Deanna crosses her arms over her chest. “What, Will?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hesitant. “I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I do respect you, and it’s not my business who you spend your time with. I know that.”

“Thank you,” she replies, her voice frosty.

“I was unforgivably arrogant.” He smiles faintly. “Even for me.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Do you regret it, Deanna?” She can sense very clearly that he doesn’t, and she doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

Deanna leans back against the turbolift wall, trying to put a sizeable distance between their bodies. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before she answers.

“No, Will,” she tells him, and it's the truth. “We both wanted it; that was obvious. We were both very drunk, too. And don’t get me wrong, it was —”

“—incredible,” Will cuts in.

Deanna sighs. “Yes.”

“Was it just the synthehol talking?” he muses. “I don’t know. Knowing that we still have that connection, feeling you in my mind, it made me wonder if —”

“Don’t, ” she says softly, cutting him off. “You made it clear what you want to do with your life, your career. There was no space for us in that. There isn’t going to be now, either.”

Will’s mouth turns down unhappily, but he doesn’t argue with her. He can’t.

Deanna is feeling about as far away from poised, even Counselor Troi as it's possible to be. Will could always make her feel unmoored, lacking in all her usual control, and it’s one of the many reasons they’re never going to be together on this ship.

“But you were wrong, Deanna,” he tells her, his expression earnest. “I _do_ want you here. You’re important to the ship and the crew, and — I really missed you.”

“I know.”

“Look — I don’t think this came out right last night. I’d like to try again. When I didn’t come to Risa, I know how much it hurt you. I'm sorry.” His face softens, shame evident in his eyes as he looks at her.

Deanna’s stomach clenches and she wants to tell the turbolift to restart, but she restrains that impulse. She should hear him out, at least.

“I didn’t handle it well, I’ll admit that,” he continues. “I shouldn’t have let us fall out of touch; I just didn’t know what to say.”

“Me neither,” she admits, trying to steady her breathing, focus her mind. “That part takes two. I don’t think there’s much else either of us can say at this point. But I missed you too, Will. Really.”

Will’s smile is hopeful. “Maybe we could be friends, imzadi? At least…try?”

Apart from last night, he hasn’t called her that since they boarded the _Enterprise_. She peels herself off the wall and takes his hand, briefly so he won’t get the wrong idea.

“Okay, imzadi,” she says — a little burst of happiness in his mind, then, that she tries to ignore — “Let’s try.”

He looks at her, his eyebrows lifting. “Say, do you still play tri-d chess?”

Deanna had been in a league at school and the bedroom at her mother’s house is filled with trophies. Will would never have forgotten that, of course.

“I do.” Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re up to taking me on?” After all, he’s never won against her yet.

“Tomorrow night, Ten Forward, 1800 hours?” Will suggests, his smile nervous in a way that suggests his offer of friendship is entirely genuine. “I promise to behave myself this time.”

“It’s a date, Commander.” She grins. “Well, sort of. Computer, resume. Deck nine.”

**Author's Note:**

> I REGRET NOTHING OKAY
> 
> Shoutout to viktoire and convenientmisfires, who ruthlessly enabled me when I resurrected this ancient drawerfic.


End file.
